


Revolution in America

by DemonicGeek



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Establish Relationship, Everyone's fine, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, No betas we saunter vaguely grammarish, Please save them from themselves, Post Apocalypse, These two seriously need help, This is utterly ridiculous, Threats of beheading, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:36:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicGeek/pseuds/DemonicGeek
Summary: Aziraphale needs to go to America to pick up a rare book, but the Occupy Wall Street protests have gotten serious and they're rounding up bankers for the guillotine. Our favorite demon gave Aziraphale a lecture in Paris, but perhaps this time he wasn't paying as much attention as he should to his own clothing.





	Revolution in America

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coryphefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coryphefish/gifts).

> Utterly ridiculous fluff below. Complete and utter fluff with just a tiny splotch of angst to enable the heroes some minor concern. Everything will be fine. Neither of them will lose their heads in the literal sense.
> 
> *To be clear no bankers were harmed during the Peaceful Occupy Wall Street protests (and also go protesters!) This is a fictional dystopian future based on current politics and adding guillotines.

Aziraphale knew that Manhattan was currently in the midst of a revolution, but the book he wanted in Brooklyn should be far enough out of the way. Besides, if there was any real trouble he knew Crowley would come find him. The demon had stayed behind at his insistence that he’d only be gone for two days, and there was just no reason for them both to venture over to this side of the Atlantic. America had always been questionable in the best of times, and at this point they were guillotines on Wall Street. And Aziraphale smiled to himself, it wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy being rescued every so often, as little as he truly needed it.

This is why Aziraphale didn’t truly complain when two young people grabbed him by the arms and dragged him onto a train headed to Manhattan. He sighed a bit and watched the stops go by until he was pulled out into the Manhattan Streets and unceremoniously into a tent lined with what appeared to be bankers.

“Where’d you get that one?”

“Brooklyn! But look at this wad of cash he had with him!”

“Asher, I don’t think that’s a banker. He looks like someone’s kind of hippy grandfather.”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale sputtered. Not that he wasn’t quite old enough to be everyone’s grandfather, but the nerve!

“See, he’s even British!”

“But the cash!”

While Aziraphale was all for Crowley swooping in to the rescue, it did occur to him he should give Crowley some time, so he opted to speak up. “That was for a book. I buy and sell books, not bank notes. In Soho, London not New York.”

Not-Asher rounded on Asher “You picked up a gay British book seller who looks like he hasn’t changed clothes since they came into fashion in his youth. Really?”

Aziraphale again spoke up. “I’m not strictly speaking gay.”

“Straight in Soho?”

“No, but er.” Aziraphale realized this probably not the right time to delve into how he was not strictly speaking human, and neither was his spouse. Genders were such convoluted things for humans at times.

Not-Asher raised an eyebrow and held out his hand to Aziraphale. “Hi, I’m Brandyn. I apologize on behalf of my colleague for his over ambition today in picking you up. We’re after bankers, not book dealers. Would you like to join me for dinner? You can be on your way afterwards, you’re not who we’re looking for.”

“I’d be delighted.”

\-------------------------------

“So you see, that’s what we’re doing here. It’s been a long time building, but the basic income inequality was just not working and then after the elections got halted” Brandyn shrugged. “Well, steps had to be taken.”

“Well, yes I understand but do they really require removing people’s heads? I don’t argue with you that these people are bad but-”

“It sends a message, along with the head removal. It scares the ones that are left, and hopefully makes them more compliant in the long run. Really it was a well thought out idea, and we don’t need to really behead many. There are guillotines in all the major cities, but the one here is the only one that gets any use and even that is rare.”

Aziraphale hummed. He was all too familiar with humans, and knew this one wouldn’t be persuaded.

“But what about the rest of the camp here?”

“The rest of the camp is dedicated towards a more communal living. We’re trying to rebuild the type of society we’d like to see. There’s a communal cooking area and food stores for those who prefer to eat on their own, a clothing closet, and even a daycare for the few who actually have kids. Most of it’s being run by college kids, but we’ve got some older people helping keep us organized.”

“Perhaps I could help with that for a bit. I can’t stay gone long, my spouse, but…”

“So, your… spouse. They’re back home?”

Aziraphale brightened. “Yes, but they do have a knack for coming to look for me if they think I’m in trouble, hence the want to not be gone too terribly long. How do they phrase it? I do not ‘adult’ well at times?”

“And… they’re pronouns are they/them? Mine are he/his. What are yours?”

“I suppose I’ve never really thought about it.”

Brandyn smiled. “Well, Az, they/them for now? Just until you figure out what you prefer, we try to keep things as gender neutral as we can here.”

Aziraphale ran through options in his head. Being an angel, he really wasn’t partial to any particular pronoun. Gender was an afterthought, truly. But he did rather like that the use of singular they was coming back into fashion after years, and the non-binary pronouns seemed to make his … host … feel more relaxed. “They/them is fine, but Aziraphale please. I’m not really one for nicknames.”

Brandyn smiled. “Well, Aziraphale. Let me introduce you around to everyone else.”

\---------------------------------

Crowley had let Aziraphale get approximately a six hour head start on him before boarding a following flight. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Aziraphale, it was that he knew Aziraphale had a knack for getting into trouble and he didn’t want to be far in case he needed to help. While time stopping was a neat trick, it would tax even him to stop time to travel across the Atlantic. So he followed his angel and got a hotel in Brooklyn, intending to simply stay out of the way, or maybe surprise Aziraphale towards the end of day two.

Unfortunately, Crowley had not put two and two together that the current rebels were looking for bankers. Bankers who tended to wear dark suits and ties. Not that he’d been wearing a traditional suit, nor a tie, but apparently it was close enough for a few of the locals to pick him up.

He let himself be dragged along, feeling that he was getting closer to Aziraphale and figuring that if he had to spring Aziraphale from whatever they’d set up, he may as well just go along with it and miracle them both out at the same time. Not quite his normal finesse when saving someone but, it would work.

As he was pulled into the camp he looked around trying to pull together something resembling a plan, after all even if he miracled them loose they’d still have to get out. That’s when he saw Aziraphale, not very much looking like a prisoner at all. He was sitting in the field talking to some of the rebels. He was wearing his normal attire, but there was a small kitten on his lap and a flower crown on his head. He was smiling.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s smile. He considered stopping time temporarily just to take it in. It was the sort of beatific smile Aziraphale gave at his most relaxed. There was nothing Crowley wouldn’t do to simply watch that smile a bit longer, and he certainly wasn’t going to do anything to stop it. 

He felt a tug and dragged his eyes away from Aziraphale as the barely more than a child in front of him pulled him into a tent.

“Got another one!”

“This one at least looks promising.” Crowley eyed the person looking up from a computer with a tired face. “Got a name?”

“His ID says Anthony J Crowley.”

Computer-person typed away and then whistled. “Oh wow. Hit a big one here. Got a hedge fund, an account in the Cayman Islands, and that’s not even including the regular bank accounts sitting in Europe. Throw him in with the rest.”

Crowley realized he was about to be unceremoniously dumped away from Aziraphale and that finally moved him to opening his mouth in protest. “But that’s not me, and I’m not even part of your bloody rebellion! Do I look like an investment banker to you?” Crowley had quite forgotten he had a hedge fund at all, having miracled one back in the 80’s when it sounded like something all the humans were doing.

“Yes, actually you do.” The person turned the screen to show Crowley the picture of a website bearing his name, and his sunglasses. Crowley winced at the logo that looked like a bush. What had he been thinking. He wanted to say it wasn’t his out of sheer embarrassment. “That accent will go well on the television, put him with the others.”

Crowley allowed himself to be pulled into another tent and ziptied to a stake there with only minor grumbles. He was able to get another glimpse of Aziraphale on the way, and as long as the angel was safe and happy he was content. He knew he could miracle himself to London, but he decided to wait and see how this would play out. After all, Aziraphale wasn’t in London right now.

\-------------------------------------

Over the next two days, Crowley occasionally caught glimpses of Aziraphale. At one point he did look concerned, but only mildly so and appeared to be searching for something. Crowley wondered briefly if he could feel him nearby. But for the most part, Aziraphale was smiling and so Crowley waited.

Aziraphale meanwhile was having a fascinating time. He hadn’t spent much time with young humans outside the Them lately, and these were interesting ones. The Occupiers, as they called themselves, had been referring to him as their Gay Godparent since the first night when he had told a story about Oscar Wilde, forgetting to change the name. They’d assumed it was a pet name and run with it, but word that there was an older not-straight human had spread through the camp.

So had the fact that he was a wonderful person to talk on complicated gender discussions. Not because Aziraphale understood them in total, but in part because he didn’t and simply accepted whatever conclusion someone came to on their own gender and encouraged them in it. The first night he’d made the mistake of slipping and using the word transsexual, but the Occupiers had forgiven him after someone over the age of 40 had explained the history of the term. And if there was one thing that Aziraphale was good at it was genuine and profuse apologies. Aziraphale decided to do more listening than talking, and it turned out he was a wonderful listener.

Aziraphale found it all fascinating. The humans and their rebellion and their want to truly change the fabric of how Americans were looking at the world. He hoped they’d succeed. He knew it was too early to tell, but he performed a few minor miracles that would help them along their way a bit. If nothing else, he was enjoying the microbrews they kept offering him.

They Occupiers kept taking photos of him in various poses and asking him if they can post them on places like Twitter and Tumblr. Aziraphale agreed, not knowing that he was gradually becoming internet famous as the grandparent figure to the Occupier movement. Afterall, if this Boomer appearing entity can get pronouns right, why can’t everyone?

Towards dinner time on the second night he heard them talking about the guillotine live broadcast for tomorrow. That was one item he hadn’t been able to dissuade them from. Having come close to having his own head removed, he wasn’t overly fond of the idea. The two Occupiers were discussing the bankers set to lose their head in the morning when the description of one caught his attention. British. Black suit. Never removes his sunglasses, not even when it’s dark. Aziraphale sighed, apparently his rescue plan had backfired.

\----------------------

That evening Crowley was muttering to himself about his situation. Really he had to make a decision soon about leaving. Aziraphale seemed content enough, and his head was on the line if he didn’t decide what to do. He glanced Brandyn, nominally his guard for the evening who’d fallen asleep looking at his phone. “What kind of barbarians play DUBSTEP?” Crowley muttered.

“Barbarians don’t reinvent devilishly raucous kinds of music every half century, my dear.” Aziraphale said from behind him. “Only the youth do that.”

“Really, Crowley. Coming to Manhattan in the middle of a rebellion wearing that?” There was a touch of a smile in the voice and Crowley turned his head, looking for the angel.

“Oh good LORD.” Crowley stared hard at Aziraphale. He had expected some sort of smug throw back to Paris. What he hadn’t expected was Aziraphale to look any different than he always did. But that was before Aziraphale realized Crowley was not only there, but waiting for him. Why else wouldn’t he miracle himself away? “Good fucking LORD, Angel!” Crowley wasn’t one for second or third glances, he simply took it all in with one long stare. Sometime in the past day, Aziraphale had acquired blue hair dye, and replaced the flower crown with an iridescently holographic baseball cap. But it was the tartan romper that had really held Crowley’s attention. Where the hell had the Occupiers managed to come up with that.

The only indication Aziraphale gave to his changed appearance was a small smile at Crowley’s stare. “What are you doing tied up in the Occupiers tents? You’re supposed to be at the book shop.”

“Well I was, I got-” Crowley realized all this time and he hadn’t come up with a real lie, so he simply spit out the truth “lonely.”

“Lonely?”

“If you must know, I missed you.”

A mischievous smile crossed Aziraphale’s face. “So you just popped across the ocean because you wanted something to nibble. Dressed like that?”

Crowley just arched an eyebrow. “I have standards. Unlike some angels it seems. Really, that hat?”

Aziraphale took a step closer and reached for Crowley’s hands. He realized the zipties were already loosened and Crowley could have pulled his hands free anytime he wanted, so instead he simply caressed his hands a bit.

“Don’t you like it?”

Crowley eyed the romper. Specifically he eyed the way it was hugging Aziraphale’s thigh closest to him. He gave up a bit of the show and pulled a hand free so he could reach up and grab the bowtie that was barely within reach and start to pull Aziraphale closer.

That was when the tent flap opened, and a young Occupier ran in. They looked at Crowley, one hand loose seemingly around their new found Grandparental figures neck, and dove knife outstretched.

Crowley hissed as the knife bit into his shoulder. Aziraphale yelled. Brandyn, finally woke up.

Aziraphale collected himself enough to push the attacker back and shout “THAT IS MY SPOUSE!” before turning back to Crowley to assess the damage. Brandyn grabbed the Occupier and pulled them back.

“I’ll go call an ambulance.”

“That won’t necessary” Aziraphale says crisply. “Just some time alone, please.”

Crowley looks into Aziraphale’s eyes and while he doubted the humans notice, he noticed that they’re glowing slightly as Aziraphale kneeled next to him.

“Don’t get anything on your outfit, angel. I rather like that one.” is the last thing Brandyn hears as he dragged the attacker from the tent to give the two the requested time. He respected Aziraphale’s wish to not get an ambulance, but goes to hunt down one of the nurses at the compound.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s glasses gently from his face so he can see his eyes. There’s pain there, but it’s not overbearing. “Love, I’m going to pull the knife and heal the wound. But it’s probably going to burn a bit, divine magic and all that. Are you ready?”

“Just get it over with, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded. He kept one hand on Crowley’s face, making eye contact, giving him something to look at that’s not his bleeding shoulder. The other hand reached and with a quick yank the blade is removed and the wound cauterized by a shot of angelic healing. Crowley didn't scream, but his eyes closed and he threw his head back with the effort.

Aziraphale quickly miracled the blood away and the suit mended and waits a moment for Crowley to open his eyes. Hand never leaving his face, thumb gently brushing his cheek.

Once Crowley is sure the pain is gone from his eyes, that Aziraphale won’t see it (ignoring the fact that he could feel it), does he open his eyes to Aziraphale’s concerned face.

“Hey, angel. Uh, maybe a little help with the feet? I got my hands free but…”

Aziraphale picked up the knife he’d pulled from Crowley’s shoulder distastefully, and turned his body slightly to cut the zipties at Crowley’s feet. While he was cutting, he felt a hand gently playing with the now blue curls, and another on his side.

The instant Crowley’s feet were free, a sharp tug pulled him back into Crowley’s lap. Normally, it would have made him laugh but instead he yelped “Your shoulder!”

“Is fine. You saw to that. As you always have. Now, after all this trouble and me sitting here bored for days can I at least get a kiss out of it?”

Aziraphale finally relented and leaned in closer. Crowley’s lips meet his and he let out a soft sigh as the kiss deepens and Crowley’s hands are most decidedly ensuring no actual harm has come to the soft curls.

Aziraphale was vaguely aware of the tent flap opening and of hearing Brandyn’s voice say “I know you said no ambulance, but I got the nurse… oh… Oh I’ll give you two a moment.” Brandyn briefly considered snapping a quick photo of the two, but opts to give them some privacy instead and ducked back out of the tent.

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s lips curl into a smile under his. He realized he’s still very much sitting on Crowley’s lap in nothing more than a romper and that they seem to have some time to themselves for the moment.

\--------

A little while later Aziraphale and Crowley emerged from the tent. If Aziraphale’s romper is a little rumpled, and Crowley’s shirt is on backwards, no one said a thing. The crowd instead gives a cheer. Because there’s one emotion that can overcome a Gen Zer’s need to guillotine an investment banker. And that emotion is “shipping it.” And all the onlookers shipped it very much indeed.

\----------------

EPILOGUE

They were standing at the boat yard. “I don’t know why you want a yacht, but really Aziraphale here’s my credit card attached to that hedge fund. Go buy a yacht if you want one.”

“But dear why do that when I can just…” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a yacht appeared at the end of the dock.

“That is a ridiculous sized miracle when you could have just…”

“Oh I know, but shh dear this one has some special modifications!”

Aziraphale started hurrying down the dock, leaving Crowley no choice but to follow after the angel. His hair was slowly fading from blue back to it’s normal color, but he was still wearing the romper. Though Crowley did have a bag over his shoulder with Aziraphale’s normal outfit, couldn’t let anything happen to his coat afterall.

Azirpahale walked up the gangplank to the boat and Crowley quickly followed him.

“You don’t want to sail this thing all the way home do you? I would have thought the sailings during the 16th century would have been enough for both of us.”

“Oh no dear, I just thought well… I thought since we were leaving that we could have a bit of a going away party.”

That was when Crowley realized there was a crowd at the end of the dock. “Going away party?”  Aziraphale just smiled beatifically. Crowley felt himself start to melt. If it made the angel happy… “Wait isn’t that the one that stabbed me?”

“Oh they didn’t mean it Crowley. They’ve apologized how many times since then? And your shoulder is good as new.”

“Just… keep an eye on that one.”

Aziraphale moved closer and wrapped his arm around Crowley. “Oh don’t worry, dear. They’re planning for a bit of a dance party. I wasn’t planning to let you go at all evening.”

\-----------------------------------------

EPILOGUE PART TWO

“Angel, when did you get a cell phone?”

“Oh the nice young people in New York got it for me! They said they wanted me to keep in touch. They’ve set me up with something called a Twitter and Instagram and look, they taught me how to take a selfie!”

“I..invented… you know what nevermind.” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Crowley on the cheek while holding the phone in perfect selfie position. Then he started typing rather rapidly on the phone. After a moment Crowley couldn’t take the curiosity anymore. “Can I see?”

Aziraphale proudly handed the phone over, open to his twitter account. Crowley’s eyes widened when he saw the over 100,000 followers and multiple replies of encouragement and retweets. He was also surprised to see more than one photo of himself on the account when he wasn’t paying attention, and one notable one of him asleep as he scrolled. “How?”

“Oh they set up for me when I was in New York! They said I was… a hash tag? And then they asked me to keep making posts once we got home, you know so they’d know all was well. They wanted to know what pronouns I settled on in the end as well.”

“Adam and Warlock are going to love this.”

“You really think so?”

“Definitely. But for now, what’d you do with that romper?”


End file.
